Introspectives | Téa Brennan's Stuff.

Introspectives

September4th

The weirdest week of all

Posted in: General, Introspectives
What a bizarre fucking week. In fact, I think it might be up there in the “weird week” stakes with that week in April that we don’t talk about because I want to not cry. But in a different weird kind of way. I have a bit of an out-of-body thing going on, particularly with my Twitter account, this whole notion of personal branding vs “being yourself” vs being “professional” vs my identity etc… and it’s really just been weird.

I am feeling a little raw and exposed about it, to be honest. My online “persona” has collided with me as a person… and I don’t know where that shift suddenly occurred, but I am finding that less and less people get what I am doing. More people seem to think that I am actually like this “tealou” person, and it’s almost become an expectation… like I am some circus monkey that has to lay on the filth or something. Heck, some people even call me tealou, even when I say not to. It feels bizarre, because it has gotten away from me and I don’t know how to switch it off.

I am not sure if it’s either a case of severely missing the mark, the demographics of Twitter changing (and thus resulting in less… errr… intelligent people), or because I now have a personal stake in the reaction because a lot of my Twitter followers are also my friends. Because then I go through this thought process… that I met them through this channel, which means there is this expectation of someone more… boisterous… our foul-mouthed… or emotionally needy… or flirty… or whatever. And I find myself playing this part, because people seem to like it… and then it gets me in trouble and does actual damage, hurts someone, and I go “SHIT! This is all just a joke that got out if hand!”

It may surprise you to read that I am actually very quiet 98% of the time. I am socially awkward. I would prefer to read a book over watching TV. I would prefer to watch TV than have sex… I would give my last dollar to anyone who needed it more than me and I actually avoid confrontation and backdown from bullies more times than I should. In many ways the “real me” is quite… opposite… to the “tealou” me… but as we move on, I find myself feeling pressured to be the funny one, or the crude one, or the one who says things to provoke… rather than being the multi-faceted me.

For the @tealou persona? It’s not a misrepresentation, per se, of who I am. It’s more of an id version of me… using the challenge of 140 characters to say what you are thinking, or to make a joke, or whatever. I have a strength with the written word and Twitter is great for that.

But, I dunno, things have gotten weird. Maybe it’s because of my new status as a “single” woman, that people are now reading everything I say like I am somehow desperate to find a man or something. It’s actually quite the opposite and I am so not interested in anything like that… I just want to be alone. But I dunno, something changed. I was reading a brochure about divorce and how your friendships can change when people perceive you to be “after their husbands”, whether it is the case or not. Maybe there’s a little of that… where… what used to be safe & funny to say as a married woman…. vs…. what’s safe & fun to say now that I am single… that on some level I need to accept that everything I write is going to be read differently from this point on? It’s so weird because it’s so not me.

As I have said before, I started the tealou username when it was anonymous. I built this following over time, and its weird because it has now become fused with my “real name” and people truly expect you to be exactly who you say you are. What a bizarre shift… that Facebook caused… to the point where most people now expect on some level, you to be yourself. But the Téa you see is the Téa that has to adopt this mask in order to even leave the house. The Téa that you meet is overly friendly, and even flirty, because I find it so unbelievable that anyone would like me, I try my hardest and smile & laugh… because that’s what “confident” people do, right?

It’s so bizarre. I haven’t yet figured it out. Part of me wants to kill the @tealou persona, but then, I have an audience and it has led me to so many wonderful people… people I would never have connected with if not for that. But how do I get to have both authenticity and interest? Because frankly, without the swearing & snark, I am actually kind of dull. It’s a hard one, huh?
August29th

Messy.

Posted in: General, Introspectives, Married Life
I am so full of shit and I just suddenly realised it.

I know, I know, you’re all like “tell us something we don’t know”. But, stay with with me.

Today I wrote a blog post about the end of my marriage. But I did leave out one little detail, and that is that I am actually quite mean when I want to be. Or, in this case, manipulative and cruel.

The thing that started all of this discussion? How much I flirt on Twitter, particularly with a handful of guys. It’s always been innocent and fun, all about the joke, how far the joke can go… pushing, etc etc. At least, it was for me. I have this thing where I will take a joke and hammer it till it dies. Add in some people that encourage that and it generally heads gutterwards pretty quickly. But I am all about the joke.

Now, it’s not so much the flirting itself, but the fact that Jason just not seeing it the same way as me magnified all the other issues that have been brewing for some time.

So, anyway, we clashed on it. Jason argued that me making gutter-jokes on Twitter would give men the wrong impression… that I was interested in them, whatever. I maintain that as adults, most of us married, it’s a joke and everyone knows it is. I am so not this @tealou person. I consider it a persona, a bit of fun, some flirting with happily married people who ALSO get the difference between joke, exaggeration & reality. And then I was told that people take it all on face value, and, well, yeah.

Which of course not only spoiled my fun, but it also made me assume the worst of everyone. Yes, for me, it’s all about the planting of a seed with my insecurities and then they blow into a full-blown paranoia. Which turns into a big “FUCK YOU YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO”… and that’s what I’ve been doing the last few weeks. Very publicly poking and prodding and daring Jason to bite. On some subconscious level I guess it’s easier to end a marriage if they hate you, I don’t know what the hell I am thinking. But…

Again, having what I perceived to just be jokes along the lines of The Man Show, turned into something… weird and creepy and self conscious. I am a little shitted off about it, but, being a self-aware and reflective type of person, has realised that I probably went a little too far, in an attempt to prove a point (and also hurt him, which, ironically, is not what I set out to do).

So, while the last post is obviously how I feel, I don’t think it’s necessarily fair not to acknowledge that I have also decided to break up my family, and just want to be alone. The Twitter stuff? Meh. Whatever. But I also acknowledge that I pushed it too far in an attempt to make it easier to break up.

So now I have decided to grow up, separate, without the stupid childish shit. Because my marriage is over, but, I d0n’t need to a) drag others into it or b) lose my dignity in the process.
August29th

Scary times, new frontiers, and WTH

Posted in: General, Introspectives, Married Life
A few weeks ago, I told my husband that I wasn’t happy and wanted to go our separate ways. I have threatened this before, usually during an argument, but… this time, I knew it was different, because it was calm. No fights, no events, nothing…. just… it has been a cumulative thing over a period of about 3 years, where I have come out the other side, suddenly realising that I am different. OK, probably not different, but, just, braver about speaking out. It is hard, writing about this stuff publicly, knowing that I live SO publicly in so many ways… but when it comes to the crunch, I am actually fairly private.

Initiating a separation is harder when the person you are married to has done nothing wrong. Well, nothing deliberate. Because the thoughts are not of getting out of a toxic situation, or an abusive one, or even wanting to be with someone else, but with having to explain to people that it’s just not right for me anymore. Because no matter how I look at it, on the outside it just looks selfish. I feel selfish and mean, and it brings up a lot of issues about my mother and her moving on to another man and ignoring her children… all sorts of things. But, at the same time, I didn’t choose to be married to someone who sits on the spectrum, and if I had have been aware, I probably would have ended it. People keep on asking “what happened?” and offering condolences, etc… but… I feel…. flat. They say that the initiator of a separation often moves through the grieving process prior to making the final decision, and I think that that is what has happened here. My marriage was in trouble from the beginning, and propped up by various events, dramas, the job of raising children, we never had the chance to actually evaluate our relationship.

And because it’s not his fault, and he is a good person, and I genuinely like him, but we just have a completely different outlook on everything… and I feel stifled. Like I can’t even have my own thoughts and feelings anymore without needing to run them through a filter (that will inevitably put it down, or find something wrong with them)… and… I have realised that I am actually pretty special. And I don’t mean that in an arrogant way… but… that… I am really smart. I have BIG ideas and see the world very differently to most people. And I used to think this was a problem with me fitting in and that it was actually me. But, I guess part of growing up, is realising that your ‘weaknesses’ are often only in the context of what other people expect you to be.
- I am not domestic.
- I am not an… attentive… partner.
- I am in my own head.
- I am a dreamer.
- I am selfish.
- I am neurotic.
- I need to be reassured. CONSTANTLY. Incessantly.
- I expect full attention with my shit, and don’t listen if I am not interested in yours.
That’s been my whole identity for most of the marriage. Feeling like I need to be less of a dreamer, less of a brainiac, less selfish, less neurotic. Some of those are issues, like, me thinking the world revolves around me, sure, but it wasn’t my strengths, which are many, but about focusing on my weaknesses, and, feeling generally crap about myself all the time because I could not fit into the “wife and mother, part time careerist” model. It was the expected role… my search for meaning being treated as laziness, flakiness and instability, rather than as adventurous, seeking and positive. My marriage, simply, makes me feel bad about myself. Every day. Because the communication difficulties with someone literal or semantic, when you are into exaggeration and hyperbole, erodes you over time. Someone who likes adventure and impulses and enjoys just laying on the beach on a school night… is not compatible with someone who is not only worried about it being a school night, but will go ahead and remind you how right they were when you are tired the next day. A person who doesn’t value money, or mortgages, with someone who love routine and security…. well… it’s just not a good mix. I feel emotionally abused, even if it is not the case – and he does too.

And it sounds like I am slagging him off even when I am writing it… but I am not. It’s just a major, philosophical disconnect, couple with a fundamental incompatibility… that…makes both of us bring out the worst in each other. And I am by no means saying that I am doing Jason a favour by initiating the separation, because that would be so arrogant… but I honestly think that he doesn’t know how he deserves better than that. We BOTH do. And it’s not a matter of seeking counselling, or whatever, we have done all of that. I am now just realising that there is another alternative… which is rather than suffering in quiet, simmering resentment and miscommunication, DAILY, we separate and try to salvage a friendship while we can.

Our friends tell us we belong together, it’s all just so much external pressure. Internally, I feel we should not have gotten married in the first place. And I think that when something so fundamental is incompatible, it’s hard to come back from. I always had the view, even if it is naive, that you should have them ‘get’ you. Like, really get where you are coming from. They don’t have to agree – that would be dull – but to truly understand how each other ticks. And I haven’t felt that way in this relationship. Because of the pressures of needing to have children fairly young, low confidence in my ability to truly… attract someone without ulterior motives… I settled into the relationship that felt comfortable. Because it is comfortable. We are friends. But, we don’t have a marriage.

And it sounds cruel. It sounds like I am leaving him, taking him away from his children because I want to go and find someone else. That’s not it at all. I want to find out who *I* am. Because I have never known. I know that I am clever, and funny, and flawed in a million ways, but everything I have ever done has been in reference to either survival, or in reference to other people. It sounds like the lamest reason ever to end a marriage. But, truth be told, I would prefer to be afraid and lonely and tired… than to live another day in a relationship where both of us resent each other equally. I think Jason sees things my way too and I think that he agrees – it’s hard to tell with him how he’s feeling… but… I think we were limping. In a huge rut. And it really just took someone to actually say it loud and mean it.

So while you might be shocked to hear the news, or might not understand… remember that it’s internal. It’s how I feel. And I feel pretty shit because of it. But, I also don’t want to be 40, 50 and 60, having the same ridiculous conversations because noone had the balls to say that it was an unhealthy relationship.

We may figure it out in the end… and of course that would be great… for everyone else. But, you know, even if I end up being the bad guy in all of this, ultimately all I am answerable to is myself and my children. And they deserve a positive environment as much as I do.

I hope this gives some insight.
August16th

Unexpected growth. Oh, and tired.

Posted in: General, Introspectives, Medical School
So, it seems that I am going to start just about every one of these posts with a whinge about how tired I am. So, how about I just get it out of the way: I. am. tired. I am mostly tired because I am finding it hard to get into a routine – or at least – find a routine that also allows me to a) earn a living for my family b) get my study done and c) get more than 3 hours sleep a night. As I mentioned in my previous post, I am running a web design business and studying a full time load, so it’s pretty exhausting.

I came home one day last week and noticed that my son (18 months) was heavier. That is generally a sign that I haven’t seen my kids much, and in this case, it’s right. I haven’t seen my 9 year old daughter in what feels like months, and the middle boy (nearly 5), well, the only time I see him is when he seeks me out. It’s not a good balance.

And the thing that scares me, at this very moment, is that I am about to get a whole lot tireder.

I am genuinely surprised about the knock-on effects of this decision to become a Doctor. I am not sure if it is related to turning 30, or that I have opened a Pandora’s Box of figuring out (and asserting) what I want out of life, but something major has shifted in me. I feel a little bit like I am suddenly evaluating all of the choices I made up to this point – all of the things I have done out of obligation, or habit, or societal expectation… and its like the decision to uproot my life and try to do Medicine has made me question everything else, including my marriage. Like my previous career (s!), my marriage is not a bad one. I’d be okay if I stayed, but there’s just something that I am yearning within it that makes me feel incomplete. And I need to be separated to figure it out.

Because the feeling that I have when I am at a Lab, or studying the Sciences? It makes me feel complete. It might sound crazy, but Chemistry was something I was told was hard, that I was a creative-brain and that I wouldn’t cope with it. So I didn’t do it. Same with Physics. Others expectations of what I should do and how I should feel prevented me from finding my passion. Because to me, Chemistry & Physics are simply applied Philosophy. Nobody ever told me that Aristotle is as much the Grandfather of Science as he was of Political Philosophy. Noone ever said that Classical Philosophy had as much of a scientific application as a creative one. And I feel a bit let down by that, because if Chemistry had been explained to me in terms of the search for meaning or understanding the world around us, or explaining the Universe… I would have taken to Science 10 years ago. I think it might be a failing of the public school system that they don’t show the overlap between the Arts and the Sciences. My only exposure to it in high school was Bicarb and vinegar and memorising the periodic table! But, if you show me how osmosis applies in the body, why they put physiologic saline in a drip with drugs… I not only retain it, but I love it.

So I feel a little bit of sadness at how I was a Scientist for all these years and never knew it, purely because the system doesn’t encourage us to find our passion, but to pick a job we can do.

And I am sure all the Doctors that read this will laugh, because right now, I am studying only to get my GPA up so I can get in to Medical School and I am studying basic Chemistry, basic Histology, basic Physics… the sort of thing all you eggheads take for granted. And I may be right-brained but I am home, because I understand *why* these disciplines exist – and that they are a philosophical hypothesis like anything else, and it’s a discipline based on Millennia of thinking and reflecting, like anything else. If anything, I feel that having studied the classics n Philosophy prior to approaching the Sciences will make me a better Doctor, because I get the why as well as the how. Understanding things at the molecular level, and applying it across disciplines… excites me in a way I have never ever been. I want to be a Scholar, not a subset, and the discipline of Medicine is so broad, I am truly excited about my future.

And like cells have an enormous impact on the whole world, that one little decision to pursue my dream of being a Doctor has had a butterfly effect I could not have foreseen. I am truly excited.

Having said that, there are some practical hurdles that I keep coming up against. The main one is time with money a close second. And University bureaucracy is doing my head in, to say the least. My University decided that in order to graduate with the new triple-minor in Politics, Public Policy & Biomedical Science, I needed to take a whole bunch of Politics Units… it meant an additional year of study in something I had already done, so, me being me, went on a bit of a Twitter tanty. We finally negotiated that I could do as initially promised, plus one more Politics unit and that would be fine. I was a ball of stress about all of this, because as it is, the numbers are against me even getting into Med, without being stuffed around on top of it.

As I said earlier, I am full time at University, and working in a business that requires a lot of time. I got out of bed last Monday morning at 6am, to catch the train for an 8:30am lecture, to have the lecturer pretty much read from the slides that are available online. I started the Semester with the intention of attending every single lecture (to show I was committed), but at this point in time, I felt it was unsustainable, and an inefficient use of my time, so I decided to dedicate blocks of time for the whole week’s revision, instead of FOUR 1 hour lectures, on different days, per unit. I feel like I am functioning a little better this week because of it. Because it’s not so much about my commitment to the degree or to getting into Med School… for people who are grown-ups, with jobs and families (and in my case heading into single parenthood for at least a little while), it is about my time being valuable and needing to schedule efficiently. I am still attending all compulsory Labs & Tutes, and doing my best to go to lectures, but at the same time, I need to be aware o burnout. Because I have health issues, stress is not good for me and I need to learn strategies to be efficient rather than super-human.

I hope that I can at least be an example for those other older people considering entering Medical School – that it’s not about the right timing, or having enough money, or being able to take it on. As you get older it only gets harder and more complicated… and if that burning desire is there, and refuses to subside, leap now. It is really hard. It is really exhausting. And it may open up feelings and thoughts that you didn’t expect or realise. My personal growth since the decision to try for Medicine has been a combination of surprising, invigorating and downright terrifying, and you need to be prepared to feel like a different person on the other side. But, I’ll tell you… after my histology lab, with the microscope that was too high and hurt my back, and the eyestrain from staring at my own eyelashes for 2 hours, and the migraine that followed… I felt a sense of bliss like never before. The week before, I was wrist deep in cow’s guts and I have never been happier. And I was in a first year dissection lab, fighting back tears because I was just so overwhelmed with excitement and privilege to have gotten even to that point… it is so worth it.

And I know that on my first day of Medical School, I will sob like a baby. Because it has taken not only a tremendous amount of physical energy, but the emotional and spiritual transformations I have inadvertently discovered along the way, and I will feel so lucky to have the opportunity to even be there.

Which is why, whenever I feel tempted to pack it all in (which happens at least every second day), I think of that moment. Not even finishing Med School, or being a Resident, or finding my speciality, but I think about that very first day of Medical School, and that feeling that I have discovered my calling and my dream, and that feeling of nothing but pure excitement, and an immense feeling of privilege and humility, that will make all of this tiredness, separation logistics, forever teetering on bankruptcy, worth every second.
July24th

The Big D.

Posted in: Health, Introspectives
I am going to a charity ball on Friday night for Lifeline. It’s the inaugural Black Diamond Ball and it is going to be great fun. But I wanted to take a moment and just acknowledge my amazing community of Twitter friends, a lot of whom are going to the ball, but who have also courageously shared their stories about their struggles with depression in the last few weeks. I want to particularly single out my friend Seb, who has set up this brilliant blog where he pours his heart out. Tell me you aren’t instantly smitten with this man. I dare you.

Which, sort of makes it my turn. I blogged last week about being diagnosed with ADHD and how weird that is. And obviously with the stresses of the last 2 years (premature baby, financial problems, health problems, Jason’s injury, grandma’s death) it is understandable that even the most rock solid person would be tested. And I am still very much in grieving mode. I am still aching inside whenever I think about my dear Grandma and how much I miss her already.

People spoke to me through this process as if I was coping well, when inside, I really, truly, was not. I am good at pretending everything is OK, but of course Jason bears the brunt of it. I take Cymbalta to help me get through the day and sometimes it is not enough, and so sometimes I smoke or drink to numb when things are stressful.

I have been depressed for many, many years. In fact, if you held a gun to my head I would probably say that I have been depressed for most of my life. Part of it was the curse of being “gifted” and always feeling different to other kids, but part of it was always how I had such a low opinion of myself that I was my own worst enemy.

I am going to confess something to you. It’s hard work. Without a combination of anti-depressants, stimulants, painkillers and hormones, I am a babbling, crying, screaming, irrational mess. This cool, calm, fairly snarky but otherwise quite together person is not only expensive to maintain, it’s hard work some days. I suffer from clinical depression. I need to be on medications for the rest of my life. And I am forever thankful that I live in 2010 where a) I can get the appropriate treatment and b) people, for the most part, don’t judge.

I find it hard to talk about because people still misunderstand. They think that because I am depressed that I am not happy with my life. My Grandma was a big one for never truly understanding that suffering depression is not about being unhappy with your life. She never understood that you could be miserable and suffering even if you didn’t have a reason for it. In fact, it’s really only clinical depression if there is no reason… but she found it hard to believe.

I find it hard to experience real joy. And my mood often cycles. I assume that every single person that meets me hates me, or finds me a nuisance, or whatever. I don’t take compliments. And despite my bravado, I truly aim very hard to please others because I never feel good enough.

I have a lot of anger and resentment about my “parents”, and as much as I try not to be a mean person, sometimes I am. I lose my temper a LOT. I sabotage friendships, I get paranoid and jealous and have been known to hurl things at my husband’s head. It’s certainly… tumultuous.

But, I do OK. I try to be positive and take pleasure in the little moments, and the medications help a lot. But, I just felt like with a few other friends being open about it and me going to the ball, that it might help others to talk about it as well.
July18th

Old Med School students – Just call me Gloria.

Posted in: General, Introspectives, Medical School
I had a bit of a realisation today.

I have a bit of an attitude problem. Not in the way that you’d think, but just… I just have this tendency to write people off too quickly if I think they are wasting my time or energy. Classic example was listening to lectures from last semester: I could not bear listening to second year University students discussing their very… elementary… ideas on the policy cycle. I literally had to turn it off because I found myself heckling the audio stream and Jason was pretty close to having the human catchers come to get me with a big net and haul me off to straitjacketsville. I have this horrid tendency to think I am the only person on the planet.

As part of my prep for GAMSAT to get into Medical School, I am taking three 1st Year Science classes. Chemistry, Physics & Vertebrate Anatomy. I am very excited about this prospect, having only ever studied Arts and being quite bored with it (see above), and I am finally seeing my plans for Med School come to fruition.

This morning, I was having a whinge to Jason about the posts from 1st years on the message boards. You know, obvious questions… sometimes quite immature discussion. They’re kids. And I was getting ranty about it. And I had a realisation that *I* was the one with the problem. Of course they’re anxious, they’re wanting to do well and please. They aren’t jaded and cynical and resenting the system like me. And then I realised that I was a) being too harsh and b) had better get used to it.

Because at that moment I realised that if I have any chance in hell of coping with the hierarchical nature of Medical Training, I need to get my shit together and stop being such a bitch. Because the reality is, I will be starting Medical School at the age of 33. There will be people in the hospital system and beyond that are 10 years younger than me and outrank me. And if I go to Medical School with a chip on my shoulder or arrogance, I am either not going to make it, or I may make a stupid mistake that might kill someone.

So, as funny as it is to mock the young folk and their naivety, I have instead decided to use this semester as a way to learn to be on equal footing with people that either may be younger or less experienced than me. Which, for someone with an ego like mine, is really hard to do. But, I am going to try, because all I need to do is piss off the Neuro consultant who is younger than me and there’s all my hard work gone.

In many ways, Medical School Prep is not just about the grades or the test preparation, there is a lot of personal growth that needs to occur in order to be a good Doctor. And I want to be a GOOD Doctor.
July17th

Shiny.

Posted in: General, Health, Introspectives
I have been meaning to write a blog post about this for ages, but with the craziness of the last few months, I haven’t had a chance to write it. I was already going to ages ago, but some recent discussions with friends have made me feel like I need to say something.

It’s actually really embarrassing. And it shouldn’t be. I can talk openly about so many things. My depression and how Cymbalta has changed my life. My health and weight gain and thyroid/hormone problems and pour my heart out… and yet, because of ridiculous, baseless stigma, I am embarrassed to talk about it.

A year ago, I was diagnosed with ADD. It was such a life-changing, paradigm-shifting moment in my life – to realise that I was not lazy, or flawed, or neurotic – I just process information differently to other people around me. It’s embarrassing because so many people think (for better or worse) that ADD/ADHD is not real… or that those “true” ADD people are low achieving, wall & furniture climbing, jittery messes.

Some are. In fact, many of them are. 40% of kids with ADHD have a concurrent learning disorder. It is usually these – the boys – the furniture-jumping, skin crawling, acting out at school kids that get the most attention. It is also the predominant reason why kids who act out are mis/over diagnosed.

I was actually someone who did not believe that ADHD was a real problem. I too had a stereotype in my head of a bad parent failing to discipline their kids, using drugs as a convenience, failing to get to the bottom of the kids problems. It’s a stereotype that most people hold, and it’s often why so many kids are over-diagnosed – and a whole other subset of kids are under-diagnosed.

ADD often manifests differently in girls. They fit into the Inattentive subtype. Most of them are not hyperactive or fidgety. Many of them are not only not struggling, but are actually very intelligent. They daydream. They procrastinate. They are easily distracted and have exactly the same troubles with focus that ADHD kids do – but they often sit under the radar, and it isn’t until they are older that the strategies for getting through the school system start to unravel.

Because it’s one thing to turn up to school on time and another to manage the multiple stresses of being a grownup.

I did well in school because I was ‘gifted’ and coasted. And I’ll be honest with you, I never actually did anything. I skim read, used my photographic memory and gift for language not only through high school, but through my Undergrad degree and my Masters. And also made use of ability to hyperfocus on things I am interested in. But, when I think about it, I don’t think there was one prescribed text I read all the way through. I would say that I have a Masters in Bullshit.

I am one of the lucky ones. But it only makes sense now because of an accidental diagnosis, a whole bunch of testing, and a bucketload of reading, that all of these “personality flaws” really did just come under a banner. Drugs treat about 60-70% of it, but I have to make up the difference.

The thing about ADD is that a lot of the problems of the disorder, much like anything in the DSM-IV, occur in normal people to some degree. I mean, look at the definitions for most personality disorders and we can all relate on some level. However, the difference between a normal person and a person with a disorder is with functioning.
- Everyone procrastinates. I am a chronic procrastinator to the point where it damages my functioning. The only thing that motivates me is fear, shame, or being broke.
- Everyone gets bored. I cannot listen to someone talk about anything I am not interested in without drifting off. Every. single. time.
- Everyone runs late. I consistently run late & fail to allow proper travel time.
- Everyone gets distracted. I am perpetually distracted and lose days.
- Everyone gets annoyed by noise. I cannot handle even small amounts of noise without it stressing me out.
- Everyone is tired. I am exhausted because I cannot switch my brain off at night.
- Everyone has trouble finishing things. I very rarely completed anything 100%.
- Everyone is excited about the future. I move so quickly and am so focused on the future I find it hard to see what is directly in front of me.
Ticking clocks, traffic noise, children noise, buzzing lights, radios, airconditioners annoy me to the point where I have to wear ear plugs. I have to have software that kills all social media, all websites, email, games, and all other possible tools, including Photo Booth, when I need to read or write.

Now of course, this used to just be “Téa”. Cranky, unbearable to be around, haha-so-funny-how-she-procrastinates. The famous “death stare” (which was really that moment where I’d drift off mid-conversation). But it stopped being funny and started causing me severe anxiety and depression…. because I just couldn’t function.

And yet, I am still embarrassed to talk about it. I have heard stories of young girls in private schools being prevented from doing TEE subjects because of their ADD. I have seen the press openly mock ADHD kids. I have seen this myth that ADHD = perpetual fuckup for so long that I even believed it.

It’s really just a difference. It’s given me understanding of why I find every single day so overwhelming and stressful – why I hate my mobile phone with a passion – why things that I know I am capable of are a struggle. And it’s just because I am different. I am also gifted in many ways – my memory and reasoning and other tools I have adopted to compensate are quite remarkable.

It saddens me that there are a whole generation of people who are told they are fuckups, or have an invented disorder, or suffer from depression and anxiety, who may not feel comfortable in either seeking diagnosis or talking about it. Because yes, I take stimulants to concentrate, and as a result I am a force to be reckoned with! I am not high, I am most certainly not “speedy”, and I am nowhere near “hyperactive”. I am a fairly quiet, smart, capable woman who has a different way of processing information.

I hope that others can eventually start to speak out against the stereotypes associated with ADD/ADHD, mental illness, Autism, Asperger’s – any of these things. Because it is only when we identify ourselves that people realise things aren’t as clear cut. And they may think twice before judging, or a parent may reconsider taking their kids off ADD drugs because of misconceptions or stigma. Or they may not feel like they have failed. And everyone has something that makes them different. I have medicine and tools for mine, luckily, and as a result I can go on to study Medicine. And yeah, I may occasionally wander off, or get distracted by shiny things, but, you know, that’s fun. When it’s healthy.

So as embarrassed as I am, I am writing this here that I have ADD. I am a flake. I struggle to focus on a daily basis and that’s OK.

Who’s next?
June21st

The Eulogy I couldn’t read.

Posted in: General, Introspectives
Well, it’s all over. Grandma was cremated this afternoon. Today was really, really hard and it has now hit me that I will never see her again. Walking into the funeral home for her final service, and seeing the coffin, was just a little too much, and the last 2 months hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t able to read out the eulogy, but here it is.

Grandma was born in 1931, in Catholic Ireland, to a single mother. She had 2 older brothers and a little sister, Josephine, who died when Grandma was 7. Her mother died around the same time, and grandma grew up in a convent. She never really spoke much about her childhood, and the memories she did share with me were always positive. They almost always involved her getting in trouble for being cheeky, or being chased by a nun.

Grandma never really dwelled on the loss of her mother. Her father was not interested either, and, knowing her like I do, even though she never really said much, I could tell it affected her view of the world.

To come up here and say she was a saint wouldn’t only be a lie, it would be an insult to her legacy. Because Grandma was a survivor. She didn’t always get it right and quite often got the wrong end of the stick, but her heart was good.

All she ever wanted was respect. Respect from the people who brought her into this world, respect from the family she worked so hard to maintain. She needed to know that nothing she did, all the hard work, all the late hours, all the cooked meals, all the cups of tea, and all the arguments were not in vain.

Although Grandma would not self-identify as a feminist, and in fact would go so far as to strongly deny it – there are so many ways that her influence alone informs how I see the world. Forced to go it alone, and never dependent on a man or any other person, we had a kinship and an understanding that, sometimes, we are forced to make our own luck. She never, ever let her beginnings or her disappointments affect her life, and even though the end of her life is a quiet one… That’s all she ever wanted. To be cared for, to be allowed to be vulnerable and yet still retain her dignity.

Which of course is ironic, because whenever I needed rescuing – there she was. She cleaned hotel rooms to help my dad keep me in school uniforms. She cooked me meals, she helped me to get my first flat. She wasn’t always the softest place to land, but given the circumstances, I understand why now. It was about keeping it together, and I often wonder what was going on in her head… And how she was when we weren’t around to see.

Because, with the suddenness of the cancer that killed her, I saw a different side to her. She didn’t fight it, and part of me thinks she knew for some time. But I knew her, and I like to think that I knew her better than anyone else and that she shared a special, softer side with me.

She was and always will be the main female influence in my life. I hope that the fighting spirit, the work ethic, and the strong sense of what is right, on some level, lives on in us all. And although this gathering is humble, she can rest knowing that she lives on, having lived a life with courage, conviction and dignity.

On a personal level, I hope that the last 2 months of her life spent with me and Jason, needing a lot of help, were as easy as they could have been. We’ll never stop missing her and I hope she’s proud of us.
June12th

Numbness.

Posted in: General, Introspectives
I now understand what the song ‘Cry Me a River’ means. It’s definitely referring to the snot. After sobbing, numb for 20 minutes after that call.

A lot of crying. And a lot of snot.

And I sit here, half an hour after that call, at 3:30am, knowing that I did everything I possibly could (and then some), and my only preoccupying thought was that my Grandmother died alone.

This is always the risk when you leave the hospice for the night – and I had had this discussion with the nurse today. I thought I had till morning, but I also was prepared for the call. I had told the nurse that I had had my quality time with my Grandma. My life had come to a complete standstill for the last 7 and a half weeks – I have held her, medicated her, fed her, made her laugh, and the majority of me feels OK.

But, she died alone.

I actually wasn’t prepared for that call at all. I lied.

Grief most certainly comes in waves, and even though now it’s only been 45 minutes I have had four separate waves of grief and feel another one coming. Writing this blog post, trying to use a different part of my brain, is the only thing stopping it.

Of course, I am completely numb. My hands are shaking and I am so overwhelmed by the prospect of organising a funeral for the single biggest influence in my life, where only five people are likely to show up because, unfortunately, sometimes a person’s legacy lies in just one person who truly got them.

And all I can hope, as the next wave of sobbing and snot comes, is that I did her proud. And that I can continue to carry with me the humility, the hard work and the kindness that she taught me. And also to not put up with shit. Definitely with the not putting up with shit part.

Thanks to everyone who has been there for me. This post is not so much about being “public” as it is to get it all out of the way so I can grieve in private. But thank you for your kind words and support. I owe you all drinks when this is all over.
June3rd

And now for something a bit more lighthearted…

Posted in: General, Introspectives
… like …

How FUNNY is cancer?

Seriously!

The thing that has surprised me the most over the last 6 weeks is that even in the absolute worst experiences of our lives, it can still be funny if you choose to see it that way. It’s how my Grandma always saw the world and how I do too.

I guess this is the part where I potentially piss off someone who will inevitably scream “OMFG HOW CAN YOU SAY SUCH A THING?”.

Of course Cancer, as a disease, is not funny. In fact, it’s pretty awful. But still, I have the belief that anything in life can have an upside and a funny side, and I am unapologetic about that. And when you sit around, waiting for someone to die, it very quickly becomes boring. And repetitive. And… gradual. And kinda gross. And sometimes sad.

But also… funny. And often more funny than you’d think.

But people always focus on the sad parts – you know, those Hollywood notions of what it’s like to be on your deathbed with cancer, or to watch someone you love on their deathbed with cancer… but in the real world, even the quickest-killing cancers (like the one that is killing my Grandma) have an initial “shock” period, followed by shitloads of waiting around, talking, philosophising and yes, laughing our arses off. There are no candlelight vigils at her bedside, no dramatic upward glances towards the man in the sky asking “WHY?”, no opening of old wounds or even resolution of old conflicts.

Most of the time it is just sitting around, talking. Frequently about the same thing every 10 minutes. Sometimes, because of the swelling in her brain, complete and utter hilarious nonsense. There is also a lot of hand holding, back rubbing, shoulder stroking and mouth-goober removal, as well as constant reassurance that she is not going to fall out of the bed, that she is already in her bed and no, she can’t go outside because it’s 8pm. But mostly, we laugh.

She talks nonsense sometimes, is confused most of the time and sleeps the rest. But we laugh.

She is incontinent and wears nappies. But, we find a way to laugh with her about it.

She is paralysed on her left side and increasingly losing control of her right side. But, we don’t draw attention to it and subtly move her arm so it’s comfortable and rub her feet even though she can’t feel much.

And she tells my 8 year old daughter to make sure she has sex “20 times before getting married”, says the funniest of things that I have tweeted but have since forgotten… but still make me smile at the thought of her laughing.

And when people at the Hospice, or other well wishers, give me that look like “wow, you must be doing it tough” and looks of support and sympathy, there’s a bit of a disconnect because for me, because even though I know that cancer is killing my Grandma, in a roundabout way it has been an incredibly enriching and utterly comical experience.

Except, of course, for that bit where she dies. That’s devastating. But I know that when she does go, she will want me to think of her, smile & laugh – not cry. But I will cry. But I will also laugh. And that is one of the greatest gifts she ever gave me, was to laugh at everything. Even cancer.